Benghazi, September 29: At Al-Shaheed Yusif Burahil School in downtown Benghazi the cries of excited boys playing football in the school playground can be heard in the streets outside. It is a sound heard the world over. But not for months in Libya.
This very ordinary and elsewhere totally unremarkable noise returned less than two weeks ago — Sept. 17 to be precise — exactly seven months to the day from the start of Libya’s Feb. 17 revolution.
The uprising against the now-fugitive Muammar Qaddafi closed all the schools in areas liberated from his rule. They could have reopened: Benghazi and elsewhere in the east of Libya has been peaceful for months. But the National Transitional Council decided that students should all restart classes at the same time. It did not want to see those at any one place advantaged or disadvantaged as a result of having more or less schooling.
Not that the plan has been followed to the letter. On Sept. 17, four towns still remained under Qaddafi’s control; two still remain so. But with the fall of Tripoli and all the other towns in the west last month it was decided that the time had come to bring the long school vacation to an end, first with elementary schools and then, last Saturday, with secondary schools. The universities open next month.
There is much “beginning-of-term” busyness in the corridors of the Benghazi school, named after one of Omar Mukhtar’s companions killed in the fight against the Italians.
Teachers rush around with books or sheets of paper in hand. Headmaster Ahmed Bubakr Al-Houni hardly has a free moment. Staff continually enter his office with papers to sign, questions to ask or requests for books or equipment. There are telephone calls to answer. His presence is constantly required elsewhere in the functional if drab 1970s buildings to deal with a succession of issues. A busy man indeed. It is not just the beginning of term; he has to cram everything that should have been learned in the past six months into six weeks before exams can be taken.
Teachers and pupils appear determined to get back to normality — difficult perhaps at the best of times for a school that is bursting at the seams. It has 651 students, far more than it was built for. So there are two sessions: 326 students from 8:30 a.m. to 12:30 p.m. and 325 from 12:30 to 4:30 p.m. Several are from Ras Lanuf and Brega. Their schools, like the rest of the two towns, were heavily damaged in the fighting and for the moment they have to remain in Benghazi. In some cases their families are with them; others are staying in hostels or being put up by other people.
Apart from some Qur’anic verses, Al-Houni’s office walls are almost bare. A picture of Qaddafi previously had a prominent place. So far nothing has replaced it. In fact pictures of Qaddafi used to hang everywhere. “We had to have a picture of Qaddafi in every room, sometimes more than one.” No longer. The brooding omnipresence has been exorcised from the building — and not just from classroom walls.
“He used to be mentioned in every book we had to use,” the headmaster said, “even in the geography books!” All mention of him is now obliterated, literally — blanked out from the textbooks. That is a bit of a problem in the history classes because it was almost all about Qaddafi.
There was little about Libya’s past prior to him seizing power in 1969 and absolutely nothing about independence and the period of the monarchy. That will have to wait until new textbooks are issued next year. “But the teachers are telling students about the revolution,” the headmaster enthused.
Al-Houni says it has had a profound effect on the school. “The atmosphere has changed,” he says. “The teachers are more giving, more dedicated. They are determined to give their best.”
Most of the teaching staff are female. All of them, apart from two who recently had babies, had returned. They now “feel free,” he says. Many had in fact volunteered during the seven-month break to run clubs and other extracurricular activities for schoolchildren, even giving them advice about unexploded bombs and to keep away from guns. It was, he says, “a second front line.”
Even between the students and teachers the relationship has changed, he says. “Children did not have any enthusiasm before. Now they want to learn. Education has become important. They are very excited to be back at school.”
Of course he would say that. We needed to ask the children themselves.
As we walked into the 10-year-olds’ mathematics class, the children jumped to attention. Slowly and rhythmically they chanted a welcome: “Salam alaikum wa rahmat Allah wa barakatuhu.” The headmaster beamed. The children and the teacher, however, seemed apprehensive. They were clearly wondering what the intrusion meant. There were boys on one side, girls on the other, both still wearing the blue school smocks that the Italians brought with them when they took the country from the Ottomans a century ago. The school itself is stuck very much in the 1970s. The teachers’ main tools are still a piece of chalk and a blackboard. There is not a computer in sight.
“Are you glad to be back at school?” “Yes,” the children answered. It did not seem anything less than genuine.
In all the other classes — Islamic studies, Arabic, history, English — there was the same leap to attention and slow chanting of “Peace be upon you.” In the geography class (only the geography of the Arab world was taught) it was time to find out what the kids were learning. “What is the capital of Jordan?” Arab News asked. An enthusiastic, wide-eyed 10-year old at the front shot up his hand. “Amman,” he said. “Good. And what is the capital of Oman?” Blank stares all around. Some quiet whispering. Evidently a more difficult question. “Dubai?” came the hesitant response from the same boy. Wrong, of course, but at least it was not all that far wrong; it is only about an hour and a half’s drive from Dubai to the Oman border. An intelligent mistake. One was left with the distinct impression that this was a lad who liked to learn and would go far.
English used to be banned by Qaddafi but revived a few years ago when he decided to reconnect with the rest of the world. In one of the English classes, excited 11-year-olds vied with each other to try out a few phases on their visitor. “Good morning. How are you? Where are you from?” Hopefully, the replies meant something to them.
Other than being stuck in the pre-computer age, the school could be almost anywhere in the Arab world except for the grim shadow hanging over some of the students — those who have lost family members in the uprising. “We don’t yet know the full number but we will be supportive and teach them in a special way if necessary,” Al-Houni explained. Contingency plans had been made. Some teachers, too, had lost family members he said, but they had all come back to work. He was very proud of them.
Like most children elsewhere in Libya, those at Al-Shaheed Yusif Burahil School will grow up in a very different Libya to the one their parents knew, a Libya free of dictatorship and where everyone is valued. Almost every Libyan you meet tells you how important education is for the country. “Libyans want to catch up with the world,” Zuhair Al-Barasi of Libya Al-Hurra said, not just economically but politically as well. “We must have an educated people if democracy is to work properly.”
However, journalists, particularly Western journalists, have been fixated about the possible rise of Islamists demanding Libya become an Islamic state with Shariah law or whether Al-Qaeda is going to get a foot in the door. It is an idea that Libyans do not even begin to relate to. They are extremely devout but very tolerant Muslims. “We’re not interested in Al-Qaeda, we’re interested in education,” said a colleague of Omar Mukhtar’s son, Haji Muhammad, when Arab News visited him the week before. The insinuation was evident. The two do not mix; Al-Qaeda equals ignorance.
The owner of a café near the school where we had gone after the visit had similar views. “With education, we will go forward.” And there was a confident smile on his face when he said it.
—-Arabnews